Episode 6âMeagan
Aside from the radio playing in the background, the restaurant was silent. Edesia was always closed on Mondays. Today, however, Meagan Bissett had spent the afternoon working, preparing the dishes that she planned to put on the autumn menu. While she was happy with the presentation, the costings and profit margins, she still had to run them past the owner, Fraser Oxley-Nichols.
The heat that raced through her body when she thought of their meetings had nothing to do with working in the kitchen. She might be the name behind the award-winning restaurant, but he was the money. He had the final sayâ¦although she had to admit he usually sampled the food, checked the budget and gave his approval without requesting any changes. He trusted her when it came to the food. As long as she met his financial guidelines.
Meagan glanced at the large cognac and dark chocolate truffle that would be served with praline and vanilla bean ice-cream and had to admit that she might be pushing that expensive treat up hill. It didnât meet the requirements, but it was only out by a smidge and it had luxury and decadence written all over its recipe.
She wiped the sauce off the edge of the entrée seafood platter sheâd prepared and carried it out to the table that sheâd already set for two. It was the table they always sat at, out of view from the windows at the front. Private. From her black pants she pulled out a lighter so she could light the candle that lit up the tableâs centrepiece. She didnât need to do that, but it was part of the presentation. Plus Fraser wasnât just any man. He was sin in a three-piece suit.
Her heart gave a flutter that had nothing to with nerves about serving up her new creations. No, it was pure desire. Every time he walked in here he made her feel like she was an apprentice who didnât know which end of the whisk to hold.
She gave herself a shake. She was a married womanâ¦not that she was wearing her rings. She never did when she worked. Would he take that as a hint? She should be sensible and put them on before he got here, but they were nice and safe in her handbag.
Meagan went back into the kitchen and plated up the two mains. It was a waste of food when neither would get fully eaten, but she couldnât show the owner half a meal. He needed to see what people would be paying for.
Her head snapped up at the sound of the front door opening.
Damn it. Fraser was early. Her chefâs coat was with her handbag at the front of house, which meant heâd see her in a black tank top and cargo pantsâhardly the image of a professional chef at the top of her game.
âService,â he called out. His voice sent a shiver through her, and she had to remember he was talking about the food.
She placed a delicate curl of vanilla ice-cream and a shard of praline onto the plate with the oversized truffle, and then carried out the three plates of food. The dessert, a vegetarian main and a beef and pasta main. Dishes that would suit the cooler weather. She concentrated on her steps, not on the man lounging at the table, his legs stretched out and the jacket of his blue pinstripe suit slung over a nearby chair. His white shirtsleeves were rolled up, but his waistcoat was done up. He always looked immaculate.
She looked like a bare-faced housewife.
Double damn it. She shouldâve put on a lick of mascara and a touch of powder. If he hadnât have been early, she wouldâve.
âWhat have you got for me today?â He didnât move, just glanced at the plates as she put them down.
âThese are the substitutions for autumn.â From her back pocket she pulled out the calculations sheâd done and she placed them on the table. He never liked to taste the food without knowing the details. He liked all the facts. When it came to money he was smart. But then, he hadnât got to where he was in life by being as dull as a spoon. His
Aside from the radio playing in the background, the restaurant was silent. Edesia was always closed on Mondays. Today, however, Meagan Bissett had spent the afternoon working, preparing the dishes that she planned to put on the autumn menu. While she was happy with the presentation, the costings and profit margins, she still had to run them past the owner, Fraser Oxley-Nichols.
The heat that raced through her body when she thought of their meetings had nothing to do with working in the kitchen. She might be the name behind the award-winning restaurant, but he was the money. He had the final sayâ¦although she had to admit he usually sampled the food, checked the budget and gave his approval without requesting any changes. He trusted her when it came to the food. As long as she met his financial guidelines.
Meagan glanced at the large cognac and dark chocolate truffle that would be served with praline and vanilla bean ice-cream and had to admit that she might be pushing that expensive treat up hill. It didnât meet the requirements, but it was only out by a smidge and it had luxury and decadence written all over its recipe.
She wiped the sauce off the edge of the entrée seafood platter sheâd prepared and carried it out to the table that sheâd already set for two. It was the table they always sat at, out of view from the windows at the front. Private. From her black pants she pulled out a lighter so she could light the candle that lit up the tableâs centrepiece. She didnât need to do that, but it was part of the presentation. Plus Fraser wasnât just any man. He was sin in a three-piece suit.
Her heart gave a flutter that had nothing to with nerves about serving up her new creations. No, it was pure desire. Every time he walked in here he made her feel like she was an apprentice who didnât know which end of the whisk to hold.
She gave herself a shake. She was a married womanâ¦not that she was wearing her rings. She never did when she worked. Would he take that as a hint? She should be sensible and put them on before he got here, but they were nice and safe in her handbag.
Meagan went back into the kitchen and plated up the two mains. It was a waste of food when neither would get fully eaten, but she couldnât show the owner half a meal. He needed to see what people would be paying for.
Her head snapped up at the sound of the front door opening.
Damn it. Fraser was early. Her chefâs coat was with her handbag at the front of house, which meant heâd see her in a black tank top and cargo pantsâhardly the image of a professional chef at the top of her game.
âService,â he called out. His voice sent a shiver through her, and she had to remember he was talking about the food.
She placed a delicate curl of vanilla ice-cream and a shard of praline onto the plate with the oversized truffle, and then carried out the three plates of food. The dessert, a vegetarian main and a beef and pasta main. Dishes that would suit the cooler weather. She concentrated on her steps, not on the man lounging at the table, his legs stretched out and the jacket of his blue pinstripe suit slung over a nearby chair. His white shirtsleeves were rolled up, but his waistcoat was done up. He always looked immaculate.
She looked like a bare-faced housewife.
Double damn it. She shouldâve put on a lick of mascara and a touch of powder. If he hadnât have been early, she wouldâve.
âWhat have you got for me today?â He didnât move, just glanced at the plates as she put them down.
âThese are the substitutions for autumn.â From her back pocket she pulled out the calculations sheâd done and she placed them on the table. He never liked to taste the food without knowing the details. He liked all the facts. When it came to money he was smart. But then, he hadnât got to where he was in life by being as dull as a spoon. His
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